From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [32]
Gren crouched beside Vrell, holding the healing satchel. Vrell took the bag and set it on the grass beside her so that she would have easy access to the contents.
“I need some water, Gren. Fresh water. Do your best.”
Gren loped away.
Vrell used linen to mop away some of the blood. Gren returned with a bucket of water with leaves floating in it. Vrell shot her a scowl.
“It’s all I could find.”
Vrell fished out the leaves and cleaned the wound. Using a set of arrowspoons Sir Eagan—her real father—had given her, she withdrew the arrowhead, cleaned and packed the wound with yarrow, and bandaged the man up.
A boy ran over. “Please, miss. My pa’s hurt. Can you help?”
“I shall try.” Vrell grabbed her satchel and followed the boy.
Gren trailed along. “Where’d you learn to do this?”
Vrell increased her stride to keep up with the boy. “Practice.”
The boy scurried toward a shack behind the chicken coop. Part of the roof was charred and had partially collapsed. “The soldiers put out the fire, but they couldn’t stay to help my pa.” The boy ducked inside and knelt on the dirt floor. “He’s here.”
A man sat on a straw-covered pallet, cradling his arm. It was Fredic, the man who tended the chickens and brought eggs into the kitchens each morning.
Vrell knelt in front of the man. “May I see, Fredic?”
“By this day, my lady! What are you doing out here?”
Vrell ignored the question. “What happened?”
“Broken, I think.” Fredic held his arm out. His forearm was swollen abnormally, his tanned skin bruised purple atop the bump. “Piece of timber fell from the roof when I was chasing old Bessol. That old rooster’s a rascal. Heard something snap. Know how to fix a broken arm? Didn’t think noblewomen learned healing arts.”
“Most do not.” Vrell ran her hands along his arm. Her thumb could feel the broken bone, right below the swelling. “Gren, I need a piece of kindling, no thicker than my wrist, a smooth piece if you can find one.”
“How ’bout an axe handle?” The boy jumped up and snagged a worn length of wood from the end of the pallet.
“That will do fine.” Vrell removed a roll of linen and took the axe handle from the boy. She wrapped it in linen until it was completely covered. She handed it to Gren and rose to her knees. “Gren, hold this under his arm. Fredic, I’m going to try and move the bone into place. It’s going to hurt badly. Would you like something for the pain?”
“Nay, my lady. For my pain is only a reflection of Câan’s pain. I shall bear it well and give Him praise for it.”
Vrell smiled. “You are a brave and faithful man.”
Once Gren had the handle in place, Vrell molded Fredic’s arm until she felt the bone fall back in place. She ignored his screams, for they only agitated her, and she needed to concentrate to do the job well.
When she finished, she rubbed yarrow salve on the bruise, then wrapped his arm to the axe handle with strips of linen, tight enough to hold, but not so tight that Fredic’s fingers would purple. She made a sling from a larger strip of linen to hold Fredic’s arm close to his body.
“You are to visit the castle daily to have this checked by the duchess’s healer. Tell Anillo I sent you, do you hear?”
“Yes, my lady. I thank you for your kindness.”
Vrell smiled, then turned to the boy. “You be a help to your father, now. He must not lift anything for a while.”
“Don’t you worry ’bout me, my lady. I’ll take fine care of Pa. I’m strong enough to lift anything he can.”
Fredic winked at Vrell. “My boy thinks he’s ready for the Kingsguard already.”
“Or your personal guard, my lady, should you need another man.” The boy grinned.
Vrell gathered her bag and curtsied. “Why thank you, young man. I shall inform Anillo to keep watch for you.”
When Vrell and Gren walked away, Gren asked, “Do you have a personal guard, my lady?”
“Not since I returned.” But her mother would assign one if she discovered Vrell had been planning to leave.
Gren and Vrell continued to help wounded peasants and soldiers until